SPECIAL CHAPTER: Escape to rise again?

{NICHOLAS}

In the dimly lit dungeon, where despair clung to the damp walls like a curse, he hung—his body a mere vessel for suffering. The chains that bound him were cruel, biting into his wrists and ankles, each link a reminder of his captivity. Blood oozed from the wounds, pooling on the cold stone floor, a crimson testament to his endurance.

The poison, insidious and relentless, coursed through his veins. It twisted his insides, gnawing at his vitality. He retched, convulsing, bile mixing with the blood on his lips. The taste was metallic, like the taste of betrayal—the kind that seeped into the soul and left scars deeper than any physical wound.

Once, he had been the envy of courtiers and commoners alike—a face carved by the God, eyes that held secrets and promises. But now, those eyes fluttered open, mere slits against the harsh light filtering through the narrow window. His vision blurred, but he could hear—the distant echo of drums and flute. A haunting melody that had once accompanied his every step on the grand stage.

The irony twisted his lips into a bitter smile. How many times had he stood before an audience, bathed in applause, the reminder intoxicating scent of adoration filling the air? The same crowd that now reveled in his downfall, their cheers replaced by jeers. The same melody that had once lifted his spirit now mocked him—a cruel of what he had lost.

Memories surged forth, unbidden. The spotlight warming his skin, the thrill of performance, the gasps of awe as he danced, spun, and leaped. But those were distant echoes now, drowned by the cacophony of pain. His body sagged, the chains digging deeper, and he wondered if death would be a release or merely another act in this gruesome play.

And yet, as the drums beat in rhythm with his failing heart, he found solace. For in that haunting tune lay defiance—a rebellion against fate. He would not go quietly into the abyss. No, he would cling to life, even if it meant enduring this hellish existence. His lips curved once more, not in defeat, but in defiance. The dungeon became his stage, and the pain, his audience.

And perhaps, he would rise again. Not as the handsome idol, but as a survivor—a testament to the indomitable spirit that refused to yield. And when the final curtain fell, he would meet that haunting melody head-on, eyes unblinking, lips curved in that same sarcastic smile.

For even in suffering, there was a strange beauty—a tragic elegance that whispered, "You are still alive."

The dungeon doors groaned open, and Nicholas braced himself for another encounter with one of his treacherous cousins. But when the figure stepped into view, it wasn't who he expected. Instead, it was Edward—the one person he hadn't dared to hope for.

"Edward?" Nicholas's voice wavered. "Don't tell me you…you too?"

Edward's expression remained inscrutable. "Me?" he replied, feigning surprise. "Oh well, consider it a resurrection. If that's what you're asking."

Nicholas tilted his head, squinting at Edward. Was this truly his friend, or had the darkness twisted him into something else?

"Oh," Edward said, catching Nicholas's scrutiny. "You're wondering whose side I'm on." He stepped closer, lifting Nicholas's face with a smirk. "Care to guess?"

Nicholas's heart raced. He pushed aside thoughts of betrayal. "Since you won't tell me outright," he said, "I assume you're here to drag me to the sacrificial altar."

Edward removed the iron chain that bound Nicholas. "Don't worry about me," he said, steadying Nicholas on his shoulder. "Worry about yourself." He produced a small bottle from his pocket. "Drink this—it'll give you an easy death."

Nicholas raised an eyebrow. "This?" he asked, suspicion in his eyes.

Edward cleared his throat, his voice taking on an otherworldly tone. "Kidding…Consider it a lifeline," he said. "We're on the same side, believe it or not. It took me considerable effort to get here. Now, down the hatch—it'll give you strength."

Nicholas didn't hesitated to gulp down the entire contents of the bottle. "couldn't you tell me earlier? I even thought how to kill you" he teased Edward, feeling a rush of energy.

Edward shook his head. "Ungrateful as ever," he muttered. "But let's not waste time. We need to escape." Together, they moved toward the dungeon's exit, leaving behind the whisper of tragic elegance that clung to their desperate survival.

"I talked to the celestial council they told me these lines

In shadows, betrayal's sting,

A king bereft, his throne undone,

To mortal lands, he takes his wing,

Seeking kin, their fate as one.

Two hearts aflame, vengeance's call,

From ashes born, they rise anew,

Destiny's tapestry, woven tall,

Their reign begins—a world to subdue.

For hope whispers secrets untold,

In the fallen king's prophecy bold.

So, in conclusion the plan is to escape and rise again." Edward concluded while walking towards end of dungeon.

Nicholas, the king, stood there, his mind racing. The cryptic verses echoed in his head; their meaning elusive yet tantalizing. He glanced at Edward, who seemed to know more than he let on. The dungeon walls pressed in, their cold stone a stark reminder of his captivity.

"Edward," Nicholas began, "these lines—the prophecy—they speak of betrayal, vengeance, and a destiny intertwined with mine. But escape? How can I leave my kingdom behind?"

Edward's eyes bore into Nicholas's. "You are more than a king," he said. "You are the fallen king, the one who will rise anew. Your throne may be undone, but your purpose remains."

Nicholas clenched his fists. "And what purpose is that?"

"To seek kin," Edward replied. "To find those hearts aflame with the same fire that burns within you. Together, you'll weave a new tapestry—a reign that transcends borders and defies fate."

"But how?" Nicholas demanded. "The dungeon guards are vigilant, and my powers—"

Edward interrupted. "Your powers lie dormant, waiting for the spark of hope. The lifeline you drank—it wasn't mere strength. It was the key to unlocking your true potential."

Nicholas's mind raced. "And what of the celestial council? Why did they reveal this to you?"

Edward's gaze softened. "Because they believe in redemption," he said. "They see the fallen king's heart, burdened by mistakes and regrets. They know that sometimes, escape is the only path to salvation."

Nicholas took a deep breath. "Then we'll escape," he declared. "We'll rise again, not as a king alone, but as a force that reshapes destiny."

As they stepped toward the dungeon's exit, Nicholas felt the weight of centuries-old secrets lift. The whisper of tragic elegance faded, replaced by the promise of a world waiting to be conquered.